Riders Of The Apocalypse

Famine’s horse is black
Fallow ground ‘neath his track
From the sky it rains hail
Lack of food from his tipping scale

Conquest he is the antichrist
Riding a steed of white
Striking with militant drones
Killing souls from his mighty bow

War he rides on red
With a sword he takes your head
Contempt of life
Creating chaos and strife

And behold there come four chariots from between two mountains
Famine, Conquest, War and Death

Death’s stallion is pale
Standing on top the hill
Ancient ways now restored
Unlock the demon horde